


The Washing Gourd

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Bath Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men, a bath, and a bizarre American aberration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Washing Gourd

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/bubbleficathon/profile)[**bubbleficathon**](http://community.livejournal.com/bubbleficathon/) community. This may be the only piece of straight up RPS I write; you know me, I'm into AU's . At any rate, here it is.

Title: The Washing Gourd  
Fandom: LOTR RPS  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Viggo/Dom  
Summary: Two men, a bath, and a bizarre American aberration.   
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; no disrespect or infringement is intended, and no money is being made.

 

"Hand me that sponge," Dom says, sliding a wet knuckle over Viggo's cheek as he points. Viggo obediently makes a long arm, unpeeling his back from Dom's chest, and gives his quiet laugh when Dom leans forward ,sloshing water everywhere, to re-tuck himself against Viggo's back. Fortunately, the bathtub is large enough to contain the waves, as well as two men, if they're friendly.

"It's not a sponge," Viggo says as he hands it to Dom, who pauses to look at the item, a palm-sized cylinder of buff-colored, tough-textured three-dimensional lace. "It's a loofah."

"And what sort of Yank aberration is that?" Dom turns the thing in his hand, squeezes it gently. "Can't even get a proper sponge over here, can we?"

Dom knows full well what a loofah is, though he doesn't use them; he's bitching merely to amuse Viggo, who obligingly laughs, flexing his shoulders before pushing back through the warm water to press himself to Dom's chest as he drapes his arms out over the sides of the tub. "It's a fruit, actually. A vegetable marrow, much like a cucumber. They used to call it the washing gourd."

That Dom had not known. "Ah," he says, and gives the top of Viggo's shoulder a tenative swipe. Viggo shivers a little, making a small deep pleased sound. "Shall I?" Dom asks.

"Please do," Viggo says, and Dom kisses him on his shoulder, then begins to scrub. Viggo sits up, drawing in his arms like folding wings, and Dom places his other hand flat on Viggo's back; he scrubs in little circles, watching the skin warm to a glow, feeling Viggo's firm muscles beneath his fingers as Viggo sighs and leans forward, allowing Dom greater range of motion. Dom presses harder, feeling Viggo's groans of pleasure through his resilient flesh and the frame of his body, scrubbing down one side of his spine and up the other. Tongue poking out with pleasant effort, Dom pushes and grins as Viggo moans, wet hair sticking up from the nape of his neck and drooping forward to the water, arse pushing back between Dom's thighs as he nearly folds himself in half to bare his back for the scrubbing.

Dom might come to like this loofah thing after all.

"Mmmm, enough," Viggo rumbles, stretching out his back as he sits up again. Dom pulls his hands out of the way, watches the muscles move beneath rosy-tan flushed skin, the sinuous curve of Viggo's long back, and contemplates his own half-hard and rising cock as the bathwater eddies round it.

Viggo finishes his stretch and drops his arms, and Dom expects him to lean back again; instead, quick as anything, Viggo spins, one long leg sweeping over the tub's edge and back again, to face Dom. With his one unoccupied brain cell Dom notes that Viggo did this without sloshing or splashing; the rest are too busy registering Viggo's smile and eyes like summer skies as he leans forward for a kiss, tucking his knees beneath Dom's thighs. It would seem he liked the loofah as well.

Their lips meet, slow and lazy. Viggo's big hands pull Dom up his long legs; Dom winds arms round Viggo's neck, legs round his waist, giving a happy little whimper as all their wet warm skin comes into alignment. "We'll prune up," Dom murmurs as wet stubble scrapes stubble, rough velvet on velvet; Viggo's cheek stretches beneath his lips. "We'll dry," Viggo replies, rising on his knees, letting the water's buoyancy help as he carefully presses Dom against the bathtub wall. The tile above the waterline is cold behind Dom, prompting a little hiss, but the water's warm and Viggo's skin is hot beneath Dom's hands, against his body; before Viggo can do more than make a questioning noise Dom is warm enough and more, and he's the one to push the kiss deeper. Viggo chuckles even as he kisses Dom, and chuckles again as he starts to slide, slow and deceptively gentle, as if he won't be ramming Dom into the wall by the end of it; he chuckles because Dom gasps, and growls, and winds fingers into wet hair as he tightens his four-limbed embrace.

* * * *S* * * *

Later, in bed, Dom lies drifting, sprawled on his stomach, when he feels a single finger stroke his back and side in a complex, moving pattern. It presses hard enough to not tickle and lightly enough to caress, and he moans a little and mumbles, "do that with the whole hand."

"I can't, yet," is Viggo's reply. The finger keeps moving in little knots and swirls, following Dom's spine up towards his shoulders; Dom twitches back towards Viggo, only to be held by the other hand splaying across his shoulder blade. "Mmph, why?"

"I'm writing a poem." Viggo punctuates this with a slight poke. "About loofahs."

Dom groans a laugh, letting the pillow hide his smile.


End file.
